New York State of Mind
by ladygris
Summary: Clint copes with his actions during the movie in the only way he knows how: burying everything. But his friends see the damage he's doing to himself and intervene, ultimately resolving some of their own issues as well. Was a one-shot but has been continued to include all members of the Avengers...
1. A Holiday From The Neighborhood

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing related to the Avengers or to "New York State of Mind." All rights belong to their respective owners. I'm simply taking them out for a spin.

**Author's Note:** First of all, to my readers who were expecting some Stargate fanfic, I apologize. I heard Jeremy Renner singing this song in a video the other day, and it stuck in my head. First artwork, and now fanfic. Anyone wanting to see/hear the video just google "Jeremy Renner singing New York State of Mind." It should be the first link. Hope you enjoy! ~lg

oOo

The sun hid behind gray clouds as Clint Barton stood on the Hudson River Promenade. A breeze came off the water, moist and chilled as a summer rain approached. Few others ventured out today. There was too much work to be done in Manhattan. The Chitauri attack had shaken the world, and most "normal" people were afraid of their own shadows. Which suited Clint just fine. He liked the solitude the Promenade gave him. Out here, he wasn't The Amazing Hawkeye or a SHIELD agent or the traitor responsible for turning Loki loose on the world. He was simply Clint: a man with too many ghosts and not enough friends.

He had buried one of those friends today. Phil Coulson's body had been cremated, and the entire membership of the Avengers had returned from the four corners of the galaxy—Thor included—to honor a man who stood up to a would-be god. Now, with the memorial service behind him, Clint just wanted to be left alone. He leaned his elbows on the railing of the Promenade, one foot resting on the lowest rail as he looked at the New York skyline and turned on the iPod in his jacket pocket. His black jacket, hunched shoulders, and solitary position told the few people wandering the Promenade that he just wanted to be left alone. They skirted around him as the first raindrops began to fall, quickly coating everything with a shiny glow that made the world seem cleaner than it really was.

It had been two weeks since Loki's army attacked New York City. Clint had spent his time since Thor took his traitorous stepbrother back to Asgard cleaning up the battlefield. While technically "in the wind," as Fury put it, Clint felt responsible for a good portion of the damage. He wanted to repay that debt in some small way, and helping rebuild Manhattan seemed like a good start. So, he donned civilian clothes, hid his involvement in the defense of Earth, and worked alongside firemen, construction workers, and everyday citizens who simply wanted the devastation gone.

The iPod switched songs, and Clint grinned. Natasha had given it to him for his birthday back in January, and he barely used it. Now, he found himself rolling his eyes at her eclectic tastes in music. She had managed to nail one of his favorites, however, and he stopped himself from singing along with Billy Joel

_Some folks like to get away,  
__Take a holiday from the neighborhood.  
__Hop a flight to Miami Beach or to Hollywood.  
__But I'm takin' a Greyhound on the Hudson River line;  
__I'm in a New York state of mind._

Clint had chosen this as his theme song years ago. He had seen and done so much in his life that he often wondered if one man could take that much pain. Many times, the thought of just disappearing to some tropical island crossed his mind, but he never really acted on it. He loved New York too much. While it sometimes drove him crazy, he could still lose himself in the city streets and the non-stop activity.

_I've seen all the movie stars  
__With their fancy cars and their limousines;  
__Been high in the Rockies under the evergreens.  
__I know what I'm needin', and I don't want to waste more time  
__I'm in a New York state of mind._

Getting away for a bit really would help him, he knew. He still hadn't fully processed his own emotions over his actions while under Loki's control. The Council's inquiry into the whole affair wouldn't wrap up any time soon, and Clint couldn't leave until it did. The Council called for blood, wanting to pin the responsibility for the attack on anyone available. Loki had been snatched from their grasp, so they'd focused on Clint, leaving Fury to defend him. SHIELD's director did more than just defend Clint, however, already hinting at making him Coulson's replacement Clint hated the idea. He was a field agent, with skills suited for fighting and surviving, not being the handler on the other end of the com link. Besides, Coulson's shoes were pretty big, and Clint didn't think himself up to the task of filling them.

_It was so easy livin' day by day  
__Out of touch with the rhythm and blues.  
__But now I need a little give and take;  
__The New York Times, the Daily News._

The media had said a lot of things about the Avengers and their actions during the Chitauri invasion. Clint had kept up with it at first, secretly enjoying the celebrity status while keeping a low profile. The focus of the newscasts had been on Steve, Thor, and Tony. Natasha and Clint had somehow escaped their all-seeing cameras. Their code names had been leaked, however, resulting in the public clamoring to know who Black Widow and Hawkeye really were. After twenty-four hours, though, the novelty wore off and he longed for anonymity again. But he couldn't help wondering if his anonymity had turned into isolation. Had he lost touch with life in general while working for SHIELD? Did he need to get back on the streets, back in contact with a simpler way of life?

_It comes down to reality,  
__And it's fine with me 'cause I've let it slide.  
__I don't care if it's Chinatown or on Riverside.  
__I don't have any reasons;  
__I left them all behind.  
__I'm in a New York state of mind._

Clint really didn't have reasons for why he'd done what he'd done. After all, Loki's "glowstick of destiny" had changed everything. He hadn't needed reasons after Loki arrived. He'd just mindlessly obeyed whatever the wannabe god told him to do. Now, however, he wished he could give people a firm, valid reason for having turned traitor. Instead, he endured the wary glances and mistrustful glares he received while on base. Thankfully, the Avengers never looked at him like that. With them, he could lapse into long, introspective silences and know that all of them save Stark respected his privacy. Since Stark respected no one's privacy, Clint didn't take it personally when the man refused to leave well-enough alone.

A car door slammed behind him, and he turned his head, listening. He immediately recognized Natasha's footsteps and smiled as she approached. She'd parked some distance away and made some noise as she walked. She had startled Clint once right after her arrival at SHIELD, and he'd taken her to the ground. She never forgot the lesson. It was harder to take her down now, after years of training and working together. But she respected his space and understood his need to know everything going on around him.

Now, she stood a couple yards away with her feet shoulder-width apart and arms crossed. "I thought you'd be here."

Clint nodded once and stared at his hands. "Needed to get away for a bit."

She moved to stand next to him. "It wasn't your fault, you know."

"I know." Clint thought about the moment he'd learned of Coulson's death and Loki's part in it. "Still want to put an arrow through Loki's eye socket."

Natasha smirked. "You would," she said wryly. She shifted on her feet. "The others are asking if you'll be at the wake."

He turned back to the view across the Hudson, with the Statue of Liberty a silhouette in the distance. A wake meant he needed to be sociable, eat some food, and ignore the fact that they'd lost a friend. "Just give me a few more minutes."

Natasha touched his shoulder as she walked away. Clint sighed. He couldn't change what had happened, but he could affect the future. Coulson would have wanted it. Phil Coulson had believed in the Avengers and had died still clinging to that belief. "In heroes," Fury had said to Steve and Tony. Clint didn't think of himself as a hero—not when he'd helped facilitate the attack—but he knew where he would start honoring the life of a man who sacrificed everything: in New York City with the Avengers. Turning to join Natasha in the car, he grinned. Coulson would have asked him what took him so long.

The last few lines of his favorite song played as Clint allowed Natasha to drive him away from the Hudson River and toward the wake. It spoke to where he found himself at the moment and his lifelong desire for a place to call home.

_I know what I'm needin',  
__And I don't want to waste more time.  
__I'm in a New York state of mind._


	2. What I'm Needin'

**Author's Note:** So, I originally intended this to be a simple one-shot. But the characters took over, so here is the next chapter. I should have mentioned this earlier, but this is beta'd by **theicemenace**, who patiently listens to my rants and then feeds the muse with ideas such as this. Blame her for the continuation of the story! ;) As always, hope you enjoy! ~lg

oOo

Watching Clint huddle on the Hudson River Promenade the day of Coulson's funeral broke Natasha's heart. Clint had always been a confident man, sure of himself and his skills. Loki's arrival on Earth changed all of that, and it tore at Natasha to see the damage done.

Over the next week, she paid careful attention to Clint's nonverbal cues. He'd always talked to her. And to Coulson. With Coulson gone, Clint had withdrawn into himself and watched everyone around with a wariness she'd never seen. It was as if he waited for one of them to stab him in the back. . .or for his own mind to fail.

Natasha would never forget the tone in Coulson's voice when he called her in the middle of that interrogation. "Barton's been compromised." Coulson's own emotions had escaped in the slight break in his voice. It only fueled Natasha's desire to find and free Clint before Loki killed him. Standard SHIELD procedure when an agent like Clint was compromised called for all other agents to capture the turncoat. If that failed, the compromised individual was to be sanctioned with extreme prejudice. Fortunately, the director and his superiors realized that Loki's influence went beyond simple brainwashing techniques. It had to have an Achilles heel, and finding it meant finding the solution to Loki's entire scheme. It also meant Clint had a chance to be rescued.

"_I won't touch Barton, not until I make him kill you, slowly. Intimately, in every way he knows you fear! And then he'll wake just long enough to see his good work, and when he screams, I'll split his skull!"_ Loki's threat toward Barton—and Natasha—had shaken her more than she cared to admit. She and Clint were close, two people in the same line of work who bonded over sniper rifles, recurve bows, arrows, and bullets. What did the world know of their work? Only the results. They stayed in the shadows, operating covertly unless a mission called for the Black Widow's unique skills. Then, she came out of the shadows while Clint backed her up. To know that he'd spilled every secret she had to a monster like Loki stung.

"_Can you? Can you really wipe out that much red? Drakov's daughter, Sao Paolo, the hospital fire? Yes, Barton told me everything. Your ledger is dripping. It's gushing red! And you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will change anything?"_ Loki's jab at her desires for absolution had cut as deeply as his threat against Clint. How had they gone from a team, a pair of assassins who worked best together, to weapons used against one another? It spoke to Loki's true power: the power of deception. As the days passed and more time came between the Chitauri invasion and the present, Natasha had realized that the true fight had barely begun. The political outcry against the Avengers increased, and the Council had called her in a week after Coulson's funeral, "interviewing" each member of the Avengers. They called it an "inquiry," a look at Fury's leadership to evaluate whether he'd stepped out of bounds or not. Natasha knew the Council longed to find a scapegoat. And Clint, who had been the only Avenger to fall under Loki's control, took the brunt of the abuse.

The Council's inquiry hadn't helped Clint's recovery. Every time he turned around, they wanted to grill him again on his time working for Loki. On those days, he usually slipped into base, kept his head down, and spent hours alone. Natasha once tried following him, but he turned and glared at her so fiercely that she gave him the time he needed to cope with his emotions.

She still hadn't dealt with her own emotions concerning Loki. She had felt real fear when facing the Hulk, but that fear had faded in the face of the Chitauri invasion. And, looking back on her own time spent with Loki, she realized the difference. She had seen something more than just a that Bruce was unable to control. With the Hulk, she could look into the eyes of the man behind the monster and see true contrition. In talking to Loki and then seeing Clint under the Asgardian's control, she'd seen two men who felt absolutely no remorse. It shook her deeply. If a man like Clint—whom she trusted with literally everything—could be so easily turned, what did that say about her? She found herself questioning every move she made and realized that Clint's ordeal had become her ordeal.

Watching him "detox" from Loki's control was almost worse than the coldness in his eyes when he tried to kill her. Clint had struggled against the bindings holding him, sweating and cursing at first. He kept shaking his head to clear it, proving to Natasha that he knew something was wrong. His question only confirmed that. _"Do you know what it's like to be unmade?"_

Natasha did know, better than anyone. But the Red Room and the Black Widow Program were a long ways behind her. She had escaped that life, rebuilt her own, and now controlled her destiny. _She_ made the decisions for her life, not someone else. And she knew what it would take for Clint to be ready to move past his experiences with Loki. Unfortunately, she couldn't be the one to do the work.

Eight days after Coulson's funeral, she found the man she deemed most capable in the gym on the helicarrier, smacking a punching bag that should have stayed still but now swayed back and forth. "Steve."

Steve Rogers caught the bag and turned. "Hey. I didn't know you were here."

Natasha leaned against the edge of the door and shrugged. "Just got back." And she had. She had spent most of the last eight days in New York City, watching Clint kill himself to repay an imaginary debt. "You got a minute?"

"Sure." Steve turned from the punching bag and began unwrapping his hands. His hair clung to his forehead, sweat from his workout only highlighting his boyish charm and "old fashioned" appearance. He belonged in another time, one where women were still respected and cherished. For just a moment, Natasha wished she had known that and then decided she was better off in her time. She was strong, independent, and wouldn't want to feel stifled by that kind of society.

"I wanted to talk to you about Clint."

Steve stopped moving, glancing up suddenly at her words. "Everything okay with Agent Barton?"

"Yes, as far as I know." Natasha walked further into the gym, closing and locking the door behind her. To get Steve to understand her request, she'd have to be rather transparent. She didn't want just anyone walking in on them. "He's in New York, still working."

"Still?"

"That's why I'm here, Cap." Natasha smirked. "Did you think I came here because I was so drawn by your boyish good looks and sweaty workout?"

"N—no, I. . . ." Steve's voice trailed off as he realized she was teasing him. "Haha, very funny."

"Sorry, Cap. Couldn't resist." She sobered a moment later. "I really am here about Clint, though. He's. . .he's not right."

"Not right how?" Unlike others in their group—who would have made a sarcastic comment about barely realizing someone wasn't "right" in the head—Steve immediately picked up on her concern.

She hesitated slightly. "How much do you know about brainwashing and indoctrination?"

"Only what I saw in the war." Ironically, Steve didn't refer to the current war against terror or Afghanistan. He meant World War II, Adolf Hitler, and the Nazis.

"Thing is, I do." Natasha met his eyes. "I know what it's like to have someone override your own will, tell you what to think, what to believe, what to do. And to believe it's your own will, your own thoughts, and your own beliefs. Breaking that can be. . .difficult. . .at best."

"But not impossible."

"No." She sighed. "Unfortunately, there's a period after breaking through that indoctrination that is just as difficult. It's the questioning of whether people really trust you, whether you can trust yourself, and whether this is real."

"You think that's what Agent Barton's going through?" Steve picked up her unspoken cues.

"I _know_ it's what he's going through." She shook her head. "But I'm not the one who can get through to him."

Steve's eyebrows rose. "You think _I_ can?"

Natasha nodded. "Yes."

He paced a few steps away. "Why? I mean, I appreciate the compliment—if it's a compliment. But. . .I'm _me_."

"And that's why you'll get through to him." Natasha waited for the light to go off in Steve's mind, not surprised when it didn't take long. "Cap, you're the leader of this group. During the invasion, Stark gave leadership to you. That means, if anyone can get through to Clint that we trust him, it'll be you. It'll mean more coming from the man who has no idea, the man who can't even begin to understand."

"Will it?"

"You can't empathize or even sympathize, so don't get that wrong." She shrugged. "You're the Golden Boy, Captain America himself. In our line of work, trust isn't easily earned. It takes blood shed together, and it takes time."

"But I trust Agent Barton."

"I know, and so do I." Natasha sighed. "He doesn't trust himself."

Steve immediately understood. "And, because he doesn't trust himself, he thinks we don't trust him." When she nodded once, he cursed. "I never thought of it that way."

"You wouldn't."

"I'll talk to him," Steve promised. "Help him understand we trust him."

"It won't be easy, Captain." Natasha turned toward the door. "Clint's not your average person. But he'll get the message eventually. After we prove it to him. It's what he _needs_." She frowned. "Just do me a favor."

Steve held up a hand. "Not a word to the others."

"Thanks." She offered him one last smile and left the gym. Part of her doubted that she'd done the right thing, but she knew what it would mean to her to have the leader of the Avengers approach her in honesty and trust. It would mean the same to Clint, even if he didn't appear to accept it. She just hoped it didn't take another life-or-death situation to drive the lesson home. After all, Clint was stubborn and set in his ways. She grinned. She knew another assassin a lot like that. She saw that one every day when she looked into the mirror. She also saw the ghosts that haunted her, the way her eyes sometimes betrayed her fear whenever she dreamed of the Red Room, and the moments she questioned her purpose in life. She hated seeing the same expression on the face of the man who had been willing to sacrifice everything to save her from herself.


	3. Livin' Day By Day

**Author's Note:** Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I'm glad you're all enjoying the story! Just a quick note to thank **theicemenace** for her help in this chapter. She really cleaned up the dialogue and made it more natural. Also, for those of you who know I tend to update regularly, I won't be doing that this story. I'm currently focusing on an original novel I need to have finished before the end of October, so this is my "taking a break" story. There's only seven chapters, and it shouldn't be longer than a week between updates. As always, hope you enjoy! ~lg

oOo

After Natasha's visit, Steve Rogers stared at the door and tried to figure out why she thought _he_, of all people, would be able to connect with Agent Barton. In the short time since the Chitauri attack, Barton had distanced himself from everyone save for Agent Romanoff. Even then, he didn't seem inclined to talk much, and Steve doubted he would be very successful in pulling off any kind of heart-to-heart.

Rather than worrying over it, he decided to do his homework. Leaving the gym, he showered, dressed, and packed a bag. He had done this not long ago, intending to ride his motorcycle through the continental United States and "see the world," as Fury had suggested. Within a week, he'd been called back to New York for the Council's inquiry. At that time, Stark gave all of the Avengers an open-ended invitation to stay for a while in his tower as it was rebuilt, and Steve now planned to answer that call. It put him in the same city as Barton and gave him a chance to observe the archer. It took only a few words of concern, and Fury happily allowed one of SHIELD's pilots to fly him to New York. He soon knocked on Stark's door. The billionaire blinked in surprise but didn't say a word as he admitted Steve and showed him to a massive guest suite.

Over the next several days, Steve found Barton in the destroyed portion of Manhattan. His presence created a stir, something the archer wasn't thrilled about, but the two men managed to get a good amount of work done. In the evenings, Steve watched Barton disappear into the shadows and wearily made his way back to Stark Tower. Now he understood Agent Romanoff's concern. Barton was not the same man who had stood on that building and called out the shots during the Chitauri invasion. Somewhere along the way, the determination and almost lighthearted practicality had faded into despondency and apprehension. Steve saw it on Barton's face every time someone approached him.

He supposed he understood. Not completely, as Romanoff had pointed out. But some level of Barton's pain was familiar to Steve. He remembered things he'd seen in the war, things that the Nazis did to other human beings that still caused nightmares. And he would never forget watching Bucky tumble to his death. That moment, in those snow-covered mountains, was forever etched into Steve's memory. The streets of Manhattan reminded him of war-torn villages he'd traveled through during the war. The expressions on faces called to mind the refugees he'd rescued. It startled him to feel the same grief and desire to erase all signs of the attack.

Nearly a week passed, and Steve failed to figure out where Barton spent the nights. He asked Pepper Potts, who gracious admitted that Barton hadn't taken up Stark's offer of an indefinite apartment rent-free in the luxurious tower. That worried Steve more than a little. He knew Barton was a big boy and could defend himself, but if the archer felt the need to go off the grid for a bit. . . .Well, Steve wasn't above imagining the worst and hoping for the best.

In the end, he found Barton completely by accident. While on base, he'd overheard several SHIELD agents commenting on a place Agent Coulson had liked to frequent. According to those two, the place was upscale, somewhat expensive, and relaxing. They hadn't taken time to go there, but others had paid homage to the fallen agent by visiting at least once and drinking a snifter of Courvoisier VSOP Exclusif, Coulson's favorite. Tired from another long day working in the same vicinity as Agent Barton, Steve slipped through the door and looked around. Soft music played in the background while men talked, the dark wood paneling absorbing the fading daylight and reflecting the golden glow of the light bulbs. In one corner, a group of men smoked cigars and discussed some merger that would happen in two days. A couple of the dark brown leather seats were filled, but only one man sat at the actual bar. Steve blinked and tilted his head to the side as Barton knocked back a shot glass and nudged it across the marble surface toward the barkeep. The archer never glanced up as Steve approached.

The barkeep, however, met this eyes expectantly, so Steve skimmed the bottles on the top shelf. "I'd like the VSOP Exlusif, neat."

The barkeep followed gaze. "Warmed?"

"Yes." Steve slipped onto the barstool next to Barton, not at all surprised when the barkeep set the bottle of whiskey between them. Instead of staring, Steve watched as the barkeep warmed a brandy snifter and poured a bit of the cognac into the glass. After warming it a bit more, the man delivered it to Steve with a polite nod. Steve picked it up, swirled it a touch, and then took a sip. "That's good."

Barton eyed him. "You here to drink or checking in on me?"

Steve heard the slight slur to his words. "Should I be checking in on you?"

Barton huffed and sipped at his shot glass. "I dunno. Should you?"

"You're drunk."

"Yeah?" Barton turned to face him then. "Why else would I come here? To make sure you get a good drink?"

Steve had to admit Barton had him there. "I wasn't following you, if that's what you're asking. I overheard several people discussing this place back on base."

Barton accepted that almost immediately. He nodded, his face falling. "Yeah, Coulson was a regular." He shifted and went back to staring at the bar. "He liked the cognac, too."

"So I've been told." Steve heard the bitterness in Barton's tone and took another sip of his drink. For a moment, the two men were silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Steve remembered Coulson, remembered his hero worship and the bitter anger he felt when he realized he'd failed the man. He couldn't guess what Barton, who had known and trusted Coulson, felt in this moment. While it was _Loki_ who killed Coulson, Barton had been turned against SHIELD and everyone who believed in him. Men didn't get over that sort of betrayal, especially when they had no control over it. That Loki had done the turning. . . .That certainly didn't help Barton's guilt.

Finally, Barton sighed. "I'm fine."

Steve suddenly sensed his opening. "Really? Because Agent Romanoff's worried enough to talk to _me_ about it."

That got a reaction. Barton whirled on his stool and blinked, sitting up straighter. "Natasha's worried?"

"About you."

Barton waved a hand dismissively. "She'll get over it."

"I don't think she will." Steve met the archer's eyes, seeing shadows beneath them that indicated the man hadn't slept well in weeks. "Look, I know you're dealing with stuff right now that we can't imagine, but you've got a group of people who are here for you. If you'll let us in."

Barton laughed suddenly, not the reaction Steve expected. "You think spilling my guts is gonna fix this?"

"That's not what I said."

"Then what are you saying?"

"That you're a member of my team." He narrowed his eyes when Barton glared at him. "Hey, I didn't put just anyone on that building that day. I wanted _you_ there. Know why?"

Barton gestured with another shot glass of whiskey. "Enlighten me."

"Because you were the best person for the job. And I trusted you to make the right call."

Barton snickered again, telling Steve he needed to release emotion somehow and laughing was better than crying. "Yeah, well. . . .That was a special circumstance."

"No, it wasn't." Steve leaned forward, not crowding the other man but letting him know how serious he'd become. "Next time we get into a situation, I want _you_ calling the shots like that again. Not Stark, not Romanoff, and _certainly_ not Banner. You. You see things better from a distance, remember? If anyone is going to have the bigger picture and know what needs doing next, it'll be you."

Barton drew in a deep breath and blew it out forcefully, his face betraying his emotions. He stared at the shelves behind the bar, his eyes not seeing much of anything. "And what happens when I make a wrong call?"

"You won't." Steve waited for his words to make an impact through the alcohol and emotion. When they did, he lowered his voice even more. "It's not about the one mistake, Barton. It's about living day by day, doing what you know to do. Eventually, it does get better. It gets easier. And it starts by trusting yourself and trusting those closest to you."

As the other man nodded once, Steve stood and tugged some cash from his pocket. Barton never glanced at him as he paid his tab and walked out of the bar, his drink sitting almost untouched. Outside, Steve leaned against the wall and peered in through the cut-glass windows. Barton didn't see him, a testament to how drunk the archer had managed to become over the course of the evening. Steve watched as Barton mulled over what he'd said and then set aside his glass. After paying his own tab, he walked toward the door and sent Steve rushing away so he wasn't caught spying.

Steve had just made it to Stark Tower and settled into his room when he heard voices coming down the hallway. Pepper was talking to someone, letting the other person know he was welcome as long as he wanted to stay there. Steve moved to the door, listening and then smiling when he recognized Barton's gruff voice softly thank her. A moment later, a door closed, and all was quiet.

Steve walked over to the large windows and sighed. So maybe Natasha was right. Maybe Barton did need to be reminded that his "team leader" trusted him. In the long run, only time would heal the wound. But Steve would settle for Barton getting some sleep and believing in the unlikely group of people around him. It had kept him sane in the last couple of weeks, and it would work for Hawkeye. Steve was certain of it.


	4. Out Of Touch

**Author's Note:** Those of you who read my Stargate writing know I don't ask for reviews often. Most of the time, I can gauge how many reviews I'll get based on the type of story I write. However, I felt a little confused after getting only one review last chapter but a ton of follows. I honestly wasn't sure if I'd written a "good" chapter or not. Just remember something: writers on this site don't get paid to put their stories on here. We thrive on reviews, and reviews help us stay motivated to finish stories faster. All that said, hope you enjoy this chapter! ~lg

oOo

Midnight at Stark Tower was an interesting time. Bruce Banner had learned this after his second evening staying with Tony Stark. He had wandered into the main living area, which Stark promptly dubbed the Commons, and found Stark and his girlfriend, Pepper, making out on a couch near a broken, plastic-covered window. Another time, he found Pepper doing paperwork, Stark playing with one of his robots, or any combination of the two. Thankfully, they kept their more intimate activities out of the view of everyone, but Bruce had quickly developed the habit of sweeping the area before barging into it.

The Commons had been fully repaired and renovated. It took a huge amount of money to tear a group of engineers away from Manhattan to repair one tower, but Stark could afford it. He'd redecorated, warming the place up with a central fire pit, maple-colored paneling on parts of the wall, new tile, and a seating arrangement that invited people to linger. Bruce quite liked the set-up. The Commons was still massive, and those few people gathered at Stark Tower could retreat into their own little worlds and never be bothered by others around them. The floor-to-ceiling windows that gave such a fantastic view of New York City had doors that led onto Stark's "balcony," though that word didn't quite do it justice. All in all, very few visiting this room would imagine that this was the place Loki surrendered himself into the Avengers' custody.

Tonight, Bruce wandered through the darkened Commons on his way to the bar. He'd been working in the lab Stark had given him and realized belatedly that he hadn't brought a bottle of water. As he headed for the bar area, he glanced out the windows and stopped. The lights that drew attention to Stark Tower's architecture highlighted a shadowed figure at the edge of the balcony. He watched the other man sigh and changed his direction. After grabbing two bottles of beer, he slipped out the open door.

Clint Barton stood at the edge of the balcony, one foot resting on the low railing while he leaned his elbows on his raised knee. His hunched shoulders showed signs of weariness, but Bruce could see he wasn't contemplating anything destructive. The Hawk likely needed the open sky and fresh air of the night.

Barton's arrival at the tower had surprised Bruce. He knew Steve had moved to New York from the SHIELD helicarrier for a reason, and he hadn't been too shocked. However, waking up that first day just over a week ago to see Barton standing outside, in this very spot, told him that the Avengers were truly coming together after the battle. The Council's inquiry into what happened with Loki, the massive repairs being done to the city, and the public outcry—good _and_ bad—had given Bruce plenty to think about. He didn't want to know what had to be going through Agent Barton's head.

Carefully approaching the other man, he deliberately made some noise so he didn't startle Barton. Bruce had heard stories in his short time with SHIELD and the Avengers. He would hate for The Other Guy to appear just because he was irresponsible.

Barton's head turned at the small noise, listening as Bruce stopped next to him. Then, he went back to studying the skyline. "Hey, Doc."

Bruce grinned ironically at that title. "You can call me 'Bruce.' I don't mind." He offered one of the beers he'd swiped from the bar.

Barton took it and frowned. "_You_ drink?" When Bruce held up his own bottle of nonalcoholic beer, he nodded. "Never mind."

"Never did like the feeling of being drunk, of being out of control like that." Bruce shrugged. "Then The Other Guy showed up. _He_ likes beer, so I stay away from it."

Barton took a drink and swallowed. "I know what that's like."

"I'm sure you do." Bruce shook his head. "It's. . .disconcerting."

"Yeah." Barton stayed silent for so long that Bruce thought the conversation had ended. He sipped his beer, watched the horizon, and seemed to enjoy the feel of the breeze running through his hair.

Bruce admitted that Barton had found a nice spot for thinking. The wind was a bit stiff up here, but nothing he couldn't handle. It was peaceful, though, away from New York's craziness. When Stark first offered to have him visit the tower, Bruce had reminded him how he'd broken Harlem. Now, he was glad he had listened.

Barton suddenly spoke. "How do you do it, Doc? Go back to life as if nothing happened?"

"I don't." Bruce's answer caused the other man to huff out a laugh. "There's no going back sometimes. I just try to deal with the memories and move on."

"Yeah? And how do you do that?"

"It depends on what I remember." Bruce paused long enough to take another drink. "Sometimes, I remember most of what happened, like with the Chitauri. Sometimes, I just come to and find the destruction." He shook his head. "It's a nightmare."

Barton nodded once. "I remember bits and pieces. Flashes, really. Things that Loki deemed important." His gaze swept over the horizon, seeing how night covered the reality of what had been done to the city. The emergency vehicles had finally stopped flashing the area at all hours, which went a long way to help things get back to normal. Several buildings had been reduced to rubble, others irreparably damaged, and yet others battle-scarred. Manhattan wouldn't be "back to normal" for a very long time. When Barton spoke next, it was so soft Bruce barely heard him. "It _is_ a nightmare. . .being so out of touch with reality, knowing I needed to stop but not able to physically do anything."

Bruce weighed his next words, knowing he needed to be careful or Barton would shut him out completely. Of all the people in Stark Tower, he truly understood that "out of touch" feeling. But telling the other man what he did to get over it wasn't so simple. There was a long process involved, something Bruce had learned through trial and error. He couldn't put it into words. He just _knew_ how to move on.

But what did a "normal" human know about that sort of thing? Bruce had seen Barton's medical file. He knew the archer to be at the peak of human condition while still fully human. He had no defense against someone controlling his mind, not like the Hulk did. But he did have training. "What do you do when you go undercover? How do you handle getting back to who you are?"

Barton shrugged. "It's easy, Doc. I'm not out of touch. I know what I'm doing and why."

"Not what I meant."

Barton sighed deeply. "I guess I take a few days to myself, let myself fully shed that persona of whatever bad guy I had to become." He frowned. "After all these years, I guess it's pretty easy. This time, though. . . ." He trailed off for a moment. "This time was different. I wasn't just _pretending_ to be a bad guy; I _was_ the bad guy. I willingly betrayed my friends and colleagues, and Coulson paid the price. All of you did."

"But it wasn't you."

"Everyone keeps telling me that, and I'm sick of hearing it!" The sudden anger that erupted from the normally calm and controlled archer startled Bruce slightly. He mentally stepped back and reevaluated Barton's mental condition. Constantly hearing that he wasn't responsible when he really was had driven Bruce a little insane for a short time. He had learned to cope, to accept responsibility without liability for the Hulk's actions. But Barton, a SHIELD agent and man accustomed to being in complete control at all times, would struggle with that lesson. In his world, all liability rested on his shoulders if a mission went south.

After a long moment, Barton sighed, his shoulders slumping even more. When he spoke, he had lost the heat of his previous statement. "Sorry. It's just. . . ." He looked at the horizon, jaw jutting out as he put his thoughts in order. "Everyone, including Fury, wants to sweep this under the rug. 'Don't worry about it,' they say. 'You weren't yourself; you were under Loki's control.'" Barton shook his head. "Problem is, I _was _myself. I did what I was trained to do: infiltrate an enemy base and kill anyone who resisted. I'm a killer, Doc," he said as he stared at the beer in his hands. "I can't get away from that anymore. Even though they say it wasn't my fault, they still look at me like a traitor. Like I'm the one who killed Coulson. And it's. . . .Well, it's killing me."

Bruce waited, knowing the other man had more to say. Barton didn't strike him as the type to spill everything to just anyone, so he felt rather honored to be out here, listening to one of SHIELD's top agents at one in the morning. The hour that had passed seemed quick, and Bruce hated that he couldn't put his own experiences with the Hulk into better words. But it had taken years of getting to know himself to be able to cope with what had happened six weeks ago. Now, after years of dealing with The Other Guy, Bruce had been able to process the horror of the Chitauri attack and stuff it away in a box labeled "Hulk—Do Not Open." He supposed Barton wasn't asking him for that solution.

Finally, Barton straightened. "Sorry to dump that on you."

"Don't be." Bruce finished off his beer. "We all need to talk sometimes." He turned and pinned the other man in place. "And we all need to get away, too. Some place where we can find who we are without all the. . .extra baggage. Where you can be _you_ and not Agent Barton or Hawkeye."

Barton snorted. "I don't even know who that is anymore."

Bruce shrugged. "Maybe you should find out." He met the other man's eyes when Barton turned. "Look, I know you can't leave until this inquiry wraps up, but that should happen any day. You might want to think about taking some time to get to know yourself again." He narrowed his eyes. "You want to know what truly helped me, Agent Barton? Deep down? I know who _I_ am, and that allows me to handle anything The Other Guy does. What _he_ does doesn't affect what _I_ do. I had to learn that the hard way, and I'm still learning it. It does get easier, but it takes time. And killing yourself in those streets to rebuild something beyond your control while you mentally castigate yourself isn't going to help you figure out your problems."

Barton nodded in response. He continued to stare at the horizon as Bruce turned toward the house. "Thanks." The archer's quiet voice floated across the balcony just as he reached the door. "And it's 'Clint,' Doc. Just. . .'Clint.'"

Bruce grinned as he stepped back inside and left the other man to his thoughts. Only one person in their circle called Agent Barton by his given name. To be accorded that honor. . . .That made the late night worth it. It meant something he'd said had gotten through to the man underneath the agent.

Bruce wearily wandered back to his guest rooms and closed the door. His talk with Clint had brought up the memories he had of the Chitauri attack. While he'd coped with what the Hulk had done weeks ago, he still hadn't fully faced the nightmares of that attack. Seeing those cars overturned, the monsters that came out of that portal, the maniacal gleam in Loki's eyes. . . .It had put the Hulk into perspective for him. The Hulk was needed at times, and would continue to be needed as long as creatures like Loki made Earth their target. But Clint didn't have that defense. He still felt the recriminations of his actions while under Loki's control. He still faced the Council's inquiry and knew that he could lose everything with just the wrong decision.

More tired than he'd been since the attack, Bruce rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. His mind would continue to whirl around the problem if he didn't stop it. Forcing himself to sleep had become something of a habit lately, and he idly wondered if Agent Barton did the same. As he fell asleep, the same question Clint had asked him rolled through his head.

_How do you do it? Go back to life as if nothing happened?_

He wished he really had the answer instead of knowing how to just cope.


	5. A Little Give And Take

Tony Stark hated it when people messed with his things. Quite a few people learned over the years to leave stuff alone when his name had been attached to it. As a result, every member of the Avengers came under his unique form of protection. He needled, teased, pushed, annoyed, and irritated them, but, when the chips were down, he had their backs. After all, they were _his_ friends. And no one, no matter how powerful, would mess with his friends.

The Council's inquiry into the entire Loki Affair, as it had become known, infuriated Tony. He kept his fingers in everything, began doing his homework and learned all he could about the members of the Council. These secretive business and political figures thought their identities had been safeguarded, but they hadn't counted on the combined intellect of Tony Stark and JARVIS. For six weeks, Tony had watched their proceedings, their meetings with Fury and Barton, and their lives. He knew what they didn't want anyone else to know. And he planned to use it some day in the future. He just needed the right trigger to justify his actions.

Pepper thought him more than a little obsessed with the whole affair. As CEO of Stark Industries, she understood the need to look into what had happened and determine how it could be avoided next time. Tony admitted he could support that sort of inquiry, but this witch hunt had gone beyond that point a long time ago. Barton had told his story to them time and time again, admitting that he couldn't stop himself from doing what he'd done. He had been calm and collected on the surface, but Tony had seen the man's composure beginning to crumble. If the Council pushed much further, they'd wind up losing one of the best agents SHIELD had ever known.

Of course, Tony didn't tell anyone just what he thought of Agent Barton. He had an image to maintain after all. He needed to be the troublesome rich kid on the Avengers, though "kid" was pushing it a bit. He had nearly died during the events of the Chitauri invasion, and Tony had become more and more aware of his own mortality. With that awareness came an awareness of his fellow Avengers.

Agent Romanoff stayed with SHIELD and on the helicarrier to protect her identity. Her code name of "Black Widow" had already been leaked to the press, so she refused to have her face splashed across the cover of every magazine. Tony handled that well enough, but she didn't need to compromise her job and her life. Steve Rogers had stayed on the helicarrier for a short time before moving into Stark Tower. Why the man didn't go back to his apartment confused Tony, but he gladly welcomed the leader of their little band. Rogers's actions during the invasion had put Tony's doubts to rest, though he still enjoyed tweaking the "old man's" tail every now and then. Bruce Banner loved life in the research labs of Stark Tower. The Hulk had made a name for himself as well, which helped confirm Tony's statement that Banner "needed to strut" rather than tiptoe. Of course, Tony liked pushing buttons just to see how far he could nudge Banner in the Hulk's direction. But, all in all, he quite liked the skittish scientist.

Barton, however, surprised Tony. The man put in hours on the streets of Manhattan, doing back-breaking work to rebuild the city. He believed that he was responsible, and nothing any of them said could change that. Tony had watched in amazement as Barton left a Council session where they raked him over the coals, shored up his defenses, and donned his "street persona" just to return to the helicarrier covered in sweat, grime, and dust. Then, the man would get up the next morning and do it all over again. Tony's respect for the archer grew with every passing day, and he hadn't been sure whether to be complimented or frightened that Barton took up his offer of a place to stay in Stark Tower. Was Barton planning to kill himself slowly on the streets of Manhattan and just needed a closer crash pad? Or had he truly "come in from the cold," so to speak? Tony couldn't be certain, but he thankfully left the Commons to Barton late at night just so the guy could have his time to himself.

JARVIS, however, kept a close eye on the comings and goings around Stark Tower. Tony insisted on it and didn't feel one iota of shame for spying on his teammates. _Well, maybe a smidge_, he admitted to himself the morning after Barton's midnight chat with Banner. Stark hadn't even tried to listen in, preferring to let the two men work out their own issues. Barton and Banner could see eye to eye on a lot of things, and he believed both men could help one another. Banner's experiences with the Hulk gave him the ability to truly understand what Barton had endured under Loki's control, and Barton could infuse a bit more confidence into Banner. Or so Tony hoped.

That morning, however, the newscast caught his attention. He sat back and lost all interest in watching his friends as he glared at the holographic television in his private quarters. The too-perfect woman smiled at the camera and launched into her spiel. _"And, in other news today, more information on the members of the Avengers has come to light. More specifically, one of the mysterious members of the group. Sources have identified Hawkeye as Clint Barton, a member of SHIELD."_ The screen changed, showing what was obviously a security camera's view of Hawkeye on the roof of the building during the attack. _"Our sources have gone on to say that Agent Barton is currently under investigation for his part in the recent invasion. No one has given specifics of his activities, but it has become clear that he worked for the leader of the invasion for a short time."_

The newscast went on to rehash the whole Chitauri invasion, but Tony stopped listening. This was so not good, and he didn't want to be around when Barton heard of it. Forgetting about shaving, eating breakfast, or doing any of the things he normally did first thing in the morning, he left his rooms and charged into his personal lab. "JARVIS?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"I need you to bring up every feed we have of the Council and their meeting areas." Tony stood in front of his computers, his face resolute. "And I want another screen that shows what we've learned about them. Transfer it all to a secure file and lock it in The Vault."

"As you wish, Sir." JARVIS's British voice never changed, but Tony smiled anyway. The Vault was an isolated server no one knew about, and he'd done everything to make it unhackable. Since he still hadn't found anyone on the face of the planet capable of hacking his normal computer—and he'd paid quite a few people to try just to shore up his defenses—he was fairly certain the contents of The Vault wouldn't be compromised.

He spent the next twenty minutes making certain everything was in place before he returned to his room to dress for his meeting. On his way through the Commons, he found Barton sitting at the bar, a cup of coffee cradled in his hands and a bleary look to his eyes. Knowing the man hadn't had more than one beer the night before—and knowing that Barton could hold his liquor quite well—Tony realized the bleariness must have been from a lack of sleep. Barton confirmed it a moment later when he simply muttered, "Hey."

Tony frowned. "What's got you up this early?"

Barton shrugged. "Call from Fury. Gotta go in later today."

Tony nodded and poured himself a cup of Barton's overly strong coffee. He preferred his with a bit of cream and sugar, but Barton liked it black. Really black. Turning toward the door so he could hide his grimace of distaste, he said, "Good luck."

"Hey, Stark?" Barton grinned at him when he turned. "You didn't have to drink the coffee. I've got another pot over there that's more what you like." The archer stood and plodded out of the room, scratching his head and causing his hair to stand on end as he blinked owlishly.

Tony watched the man go, surprised at how human Barton appeared. Then, he quickly dumped the black coffee and poured another cup, adding cream and sugar. Now realizing he was late, he rushed to his room, pulled out his favorite business suit, and dressed for the day. Then, he climbed into his Iron Man gear and left the tower without telling anyone where he planned to go. His arrival at the helicarrier was unexpected but not unwelcome—or so he hoped. Agent Hill didn't order him shot on sight, and he was called "Sir" by almost everyone who crossed his path. He walked through the ship's corridors after shedding the red and gold outfit and acted as if he was supposed to be doing what he did.

Outside the door to a room he'd never been in before, Tony stopped and adjusted his tie. He had no problem with barging in, even if Nick Fury was in a Council meeting. No, he simply wanted to appear as dashing and powerful as possible. He had no need to sell the part, however. The entire Council knew him as unpredictable and selfish. _Time to change that,_ he thought.

Inside the room, he fired up the console that would summon the Council to their screens. Then, he waited. True to form, the twelve screens lit up one by one, and he smiled when he sensed the discomfort coming across them. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen."

"_Mr. Stark, this is highly inappropriate,"_ the spokesman said, sounding vaguely French.

"Hmm, I suppose it is." Tony shrugged off their accusation. He didn't care about "inappropriate." "Actually, what I'm here to talk to you about is. . .inappropriate."

"_And what would that be?"_

"Your treatment of Agent Barton."

"_Mr. Stark, the Council's inquiry into Agent Barton's involvement in the Chitauri invasion is confidential."_

"Really?" Tony paced a few steps away. "Then why do I—and every news outlet in the city—know all about it? Why are you calling in every member of the Avengers save for me to question us about what happened? You forget something: I'm connected. And I like to stay that way."

One of the women leaned forward. _"What is it you want, Stark?"_

"Actually, it's not what _I_ want that brings me here." Tony faced the screens again. "I know. I'm here for some other reason than myself, but that's beside the point. What _is_ the point, however, is your plan for Agent Barton."

Another member of the Council responded to his statement. _"As we've already said. . . ."_

"I know what you've said, and I don't care," Tony interrupted. "What I do care about is the man you're about to crucify just to cover yourselves."

The leader, the French guy, sat back. _"What are you insinuating, Mr. Stark?"_

"Not insinuating. Stating." Tony held up a finger. "I've been following your inquiry into Agent Barton, and I've been happy to keep my distance. Out of everyone here, I do understand the need to shore up your defenses and make certain you—and this planet—are safe from what happened. But throwing a man like Agent Barton to the wolves isn't the way to do that.

"_We've done no such thing!"_ the woman protested.

"Maybe you haven't," Tony replied. "But you haven't stopped it. Just this morning, Agent Barton's identity was leaked to the press. Thankfully, they don't have a good picture of him, or his work as a covert SHIELD operative would be irreparably endangered. Not to mention the threat to his life.

"But that doesn't concern you," he continued. "What concerns you is how _you_ will look as the truth continues to come out. You're more worried about covering yourselves than the good man who was simply doing his job and got caught in the middle."

The French guy tipped his head to one side. _"You would excuse what Agent Barton did while under the control of Loki?"_

"Ah." Tony grinned, having them right where he wanted them. "You just used the right phrase. 'Under the _control_ of Loki.' Agent Barton had no more say in what he was doing than my computer has when I use it. That's all he was to Loki: a tool, a piece of equipment to further his cause. Once he was freed from Loki's control, Agent Barton fully supported this Council, this organization, and this world. He put his life on the line to defend New York and to stop Loki. He's _still_ putting his life on the line, just in a different way, as he works to undo what he's done."

Another member of the Council, this one British, chimed into the discussion. _"Then you are asking us to look the other way?"_

"Not at all." Tony shrugged. "I'm simply telling you what you're planning to do and what I'll do in response. It's called give and take." He started pacing again, preferring to move about in an attempt to keep his audience off balance. "You're planning to crucify Agent Barton, to pin all the blame squarely on his shoulders and make him the scapegoat. In reality, he bears about as much responsibility for Loki's actions as does this Council: none.

"So, you go ahead and crucify a good man if you want to. But, here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to reveal every dirty little secret you have. And don't think I can't do it because I already know everything." Tony stopped and stared directly at the Frenchman. "You have a Swiss bank account worth millions. No one knows about it, and you'd like to keep it that way. Through funneling money into it, you've managed to avoid paying taxes. Now, I know a thing or two about this as I once considered it. But, in the end, what I stood to lose just wasn't worth it."

He turned to the woman who had been the most vocal. "You have been married for twenty years. However, in that time, you've carried on an affair with your husband's financial adviser and have managed to embezzle millions from your husband. I can't be certain, but I think your plans are to run off with your much younger lover and disappear to a tropical island somewhere. At least, that's what I'd do if I were in your shoes."

A quick glance of his head allowed Tony to stare into the darkened face of the British man. "You accepted bribes from various lowlifes, the names of which will remain confidential for now, to keep them out of prison and on the streets. You also profited from their crimes, moving money around to make certain you came out on top."

For the next ten minutes, Tony bounced from person to person, airing their dirty laundry and all the scandals he'd uncovered in the first two weeks of this entire six-week inquiry. He'd stunned them based on the absolute silence in the room, but he liked it that way. It gave him power and showed that he was in complete control of the situation. Recalling all these misdeeds from memory only solidified his standing as a genius and formidable opponent.

Finally, silence reigned in the room while the Council members shifted uncomfortably in their seats. For Tony to have known those things meant he knew their identities. After a long moment, the Frenchman sighed. _"What is it you want, Mr. Stark?"_

"A deal." Tony met the man's eyes. "You drop your indictment of Agent Barton, clear his name, and let the man go free. If he decides to stay with SHIELD, that's his business. If you don't, I go public with what I know. I will name names and unveil each of you, and there's not a single thing you can do to stop me. If you _do_ drop charges, everything I know stays locked up in a secure vault where I will have access to it at any given time." He paused for effect. "If Agent Barton goes down, _you_ go down. That's what I call 'give and take.' Who gives and who takes is up to you."

The woman leaned forward. _"Why are you doing this, Mr. Stark?"_

Tony grinned. "Because the man is my friend. And no one messes with my friends." In one swift move, he ended the call and left the Council to their decision. He startled Fury when he walked out of the room and shrugged. "They're thinking over some stuff. Might want to give them a few moments."

Fury glared at him. "Stark?"

"Can't stay." Tony waved, enjoying the frustration in Fury's scowl. "Got a party to plan." With that, returned to the compartment where he'd stowed his armor, climbed into his Iron Man suit, and returned to New York.

Later that evening, the entire group of the Avengers had gathered. Natasha and Banner sat at the bar, sharing a soda and quietly talking about events on the helicarrier. The friendship between the two didn't surprise Tony even though others seemed a little unnerved by it. Rogers held a can of beer and stood at the windows, staring into the rainy evening. As the afternoon progressed, the weather had changed and washed away signs of yet another day's work on the streets below. Barton had left for the helicarrier and his appointment with the Council just before Tony returned, so no one had seen him. But somehow—and Tony was completely mum on the how—news of the archer's meeting and that it was decision day had reached all of the Avengers save Thor. They now waited, along with Pepper, for the final word.

The elevator finally opened, and Barton wearily stepped out of it. The man wore his typical SHIELD uniform, the lines on his face relaxed for the first time in weeks. He glanced around and nodded. "It's over."

Next to the bar, Natasha straightened. "How'd it go?"

Barton shrugged with one shoulder and finally cracked a grin. "I'm a free man. They dropped all charges and closed the inquiry."

A collective sigh of relief flowed through the group as Natasha and then Pepper rushed to hug Barton. The archer willingly returned Natasha's hug and awkwardly patted Pepper's back. She didn't take offense, instead chattering away about a celebration and ordering a special meal for the group. Rogers walked over to shake Barton's hand, the unspoken messages passing between the two men so obvious that even Tony could read them. Banner quickly took Rogers's place in congratulating Barton, but Tony stayed in his seat. He didn't have the same connection to Barton that the others shared, but he still cared about what happened to him. After all, he considered the man a friend.

Suddenly, Barton turned and caught Tony's gaze. As Pepper asked what he wanted to eat for the evening, Barton nodded once in Tony's direction. And Tony raised his glass of champagne, not needing words for what he'd just been told.

Barton knew what he'd done and had just thanked him. That single nod and grateful expression was all Tony needed, and it was ironically more than what he wanted. Barton had a lot of healing left to do as he now worked through the emotional and psychological implications of Loki's mind control. But one big obstacle—the Council's inquiry—had just been lifted from his path. Whatever happened from this moment on, Barton could face the future knowing that, in the eyes of the people who mattered, he'd been forgiven.

_What is it you want, Mr. Stark?_ The Council's question floated through his head as he watched Natasha draw Barton into the circle discussing what to eat for dinner. Tony laid back on the couch, pulled one knee up and draped his arm over his knee. _This_, he mentally answered as Barton cracked a smile and then actually chuckled at something Natasha said. _This is everything I wanted._

oOo

**Author's Note:** Couple things...First of all, the World Security Council, as portrayed in the movie, had four to six members. Upon further research, I found that the Council was a twelve-member body in the comic books. So, I used that number for this chapter. Also, the scandals mentioned in this were inspired by actual scandals that took place in history. No offense or infringement was intended by using them, and I simply drew inspiration since writing scandals like that is not my forte. Also, this chapter apparently reads as if it's the end of the story (something that is entirely coincidental and not intentional). There are two more chapters to this story! It will go on! As always, hope you enjoyed! ~lg


	6. Don't Have Any Reasons

**Author's Note:** This chapter may go a little AU in how Loki is treated, but that's because I could find no firm ending for the guy. So, I stuck with the ideas from the movie and went from there. As always, hope you enjoy! ~lg

oOo

Returning his brother to Asgard to face justice grieved Thor. Just as it grieved his father. But, after seeing what Loki had done on Earth in his short time there, he knew it must be done. After all, he could not allow his stepbrother's trespass on a world under his protection to go unchallenged. He first thought it possible to redeem Loki, to bring him back to his right mind and a place where he could resume his rightful position as prince of Asgard. But the time spent on Earth showed Thor that Loki's mind had changed. He no longer desired redemption or even a place at Odin's side as a son. He wanted absolute power, and it had corrupted him so completely that Thor despaired of his redemption.

With the Tesseract now in the hands of Odin, Thor was given leave to return to Earth. Time had passed while he stayed in Asgard, listening to the counsel of his father and friends concerning his brother. Although Loki had broken those bonds, Thor refused to justify him in his bitterness. He would remain Loki's brother to the end.

Thor's first destination on Earth was a small laboratory in New Mexico. He landed outside of town amidst a thunderstorm and strode confidently toward the small observatory where _she_ worked. A few lights glowed from inside, showing a figure hunched over a desk. Thor smiled at that. Jane always pushed herself too hard, and it had been too long since he made his promise to return to her. All those months of being trapped in Asgard when his heart longed to return to this woman fell away, and he tapped lightly on the glass. She startled awake, her jaw dropping when she saw him. Then, she ran to the door and jumped into his arms the moment she got it open. Thor laughed as she drew him inside and once again kissed him as she had done when he left Earth the first time.

They spent the next three days talking and laughing and acting like young lovers without a care in any world. Darcy, who had completed her degree but still worked with Jane, rolled her eyes whenever she found the two of them in the lab doing something completely non-scientific. Thor never allowed their affections to go beyond what would be appropriate on Asgard, though he did enjoy the impulsive nature Jane displayed.

He also reunited with Eric Selvig, thrilled to see the scientist recovering from his time as Loki's captive. The shadows in the scientist's eyes told Thor he had not healed completely, and it reminded Thor that another man had also suffered. Eric explained the Council's inquiry and their intent to hold Barton accountable for his actions while under Loki's control. Thor immediately became enraged, ready to fly to the SHIELD helicarrier and confront them. Barton had no more ability to resist Loki's control than his hammer had of resisting his call. Eric calmed him quickly by stating that the Council had changed its mind after a closed-door meeting, clearing Agent Barton's name and allowing him to go free. In that moment, Thor decided he needed to visit New York to speak with Barton for himself. He had much to say to the man who had resisted killing Loki when he clearly had the chance.

Eric insisted they not arrive in the style that Thor used to arrive in New Mexico. Instead, he took Thor to a nearby second-hand store and purchased clothing that would make him seem a bit less conspicuous. Thor chose not to fly in a plane, not trusting the heavy machine to carry him when Mjolnir did the job faster and easier. Instead, he landed some distance outside of New York City and allowed Eric to hire one of the yellow carriages New Yorkers called a "cab."

The changes in New York since his departure startled Thor. He saw the destruction, signs that the Chitauri had tried to take over this world. But the citizens had rallied and begun to rebuild. It would take many years for the battle scar to fade, but Thor smiled as the cab let them out at the edge of the war zone. He looked around curiously as he walked down the street without dodging debris or chunks of buildings. Several people gave him curious glances, obviously connecting him to the red-caped member of the Avengers. But the few that approached did not dare to ask him about his identity. One small boy, however, escaped his mother's grasp and boldly asked to see his hammer. Thor gladly withdrew Mjolnir from the backpack where he'd tucked his weapon and showed the child, carefully explaining that it was not a toy. The boy touched it reverently while his mother, who looked a bit awestruck, smiled with pride. Eric nudged him just as a group of women rounded the corner, and Thor returned Mjolnir to its hiding place, saving himself the embarrassment of what Jane called "fangirls."

Stark Tower had been fully repaired in his absence. Thor's smile widened as Eric told him about Stark's work on making this a place the Avengers could gather. When he walked into the Commons, he understood what Eric meant. The massive room could rival some of his father's feasting halls, but it still felt comfortable and warm. A bar in the corner sparkled as light slanted through floor-to-ceiling windows and bounced off the various bottles on the shelves. Natasha Romanoff lounged on one couch, completely at ease as she read a book from the nearby bookcase. Steve Rogers had joined her, not speaking but nearby as a companion. At the bar, which also housed a kitchen, Agent Barton cooked something that smelled fabulous while Bruce Banner wandered through the door.

Bruce started talking as he entered the room. "What smells so. . . .Hey!" The smile that lit his features brightened the area.

The others in the room had already begun turning when Eric and Thor stepped out of the elevator, but their reactions were somewhat delayed. Steve straightened and then jumped to his feet while Natasha casually sat up. She put her feet on the floor and stretched her arms while Bruce and Steve greeted Thor with wide smiles and firm handshakes. Thor happily returned the gesture and then nodded once to Natasha. She grinned. "Hey. Welcome back."

"Thank you," Thor replied before turning to Agent Barton.

Of all the Avengers, Thor knew Barton the least. Not that he knew any of them well, but Barton had been a member of Loki's mind-controlled army for much of his visit to Earth. He knew the archer to be friendly, steady in a fight, and an incredible asset to the team.

Now, Barton flung a towel over one shoulder and moved toward him, hand outstretched like the others. He didn't quite smile, but he did meet Thor's eyes. "Welcome back."

Thor refused to shake his hand, instead clasping his forearm in a traditional Asgardian warrior's greeting. "It is good to be back."

Barton held his gaze for just a moment before turning back to his cooking. "I would have put on more food if I knew you were coming."

Thor grinned at that. Their visit to the shwarma eatery after the battle had resulted in Thor finishing Barton's sandwich since the archer didn't like the food. Natasha also pawned the second half of her sandwich off on him after having eaten her fill. Thor hadn't wanted to appear rude and had declined, resulting in Bruce polishing off the second offering.

Tony Stark chose that moment to join their gathering. He, too, reached out to shake Thor's hand. "Hey, JARVIS told me you'd arrived."

Thor blinked. "JARVIS?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Tony's butler. He's a computer."

"AI," Stark corrected, holding up a finger. "There's a difference."

"It's still a computer," Steve said peevishly, though Thor saw the sparkle in the super-soldier's eyes.

A discussion on the difference between an artificial intelligence and a computer program ensued, but Thor sat back to watch the team's interactions. Much had changed in his absence, and he was glad he had come to New York. Steve settled back in his spot near Natasha while the Black Widow listened to the men's argument with a smirk on her face. She often watched Steve, her features softening much the same way they did when she looked at Barton. Natasha protected her friends, and seeing another person outside of her work for SHIELD accepted into that circle warmed Thor's heart. Bruce perched on the edge of a chair, completely at ease and not showing any signs of his previous discontent. Stark still wanted to be the center of attention while Barton surreptitiously added more food to his recipe. All in all, the Avengers had begun to come together as a team.

He saw other things, as well. Barton was exhausted but hid it well under a false smile. Natasha worried for the archer, as did the others, but didn't know what to do to help him. The haunted look in Barton's eyes reminded Thor of the look in Selvig's eyes. It was the expression of someone who wasn't quite certain if he could trust himself. And Selvig didn't quite meet Barton's eyes whenever the archer addressed him.

Thor also saw the questions in every eye that looked at him. What had happened to Loki? Would they ever have to face his troubled brother again? Thor wished he could answer those questions but remained silent. What he needed to say was private, intended only for one other man. He had said the same thing to Selvig, but it had not had the same impact he hoped it would with Barton.

Finally, Barton served something called green chile smothered burritos. He proclaimed that he'd learned the recipe while in New Mexico, surprising Thor. Barton shrugged and met his eyes. "I was there when you took out some of SHIELD's best agents."

Thor almost asked where Barton had been but refrained. Of course this world's best marksman would have been present. Instead, he nodded. "I see."

Conversation centered around updating Thor on events that had happened in his absence. He had been gone for eight weeks, and much had transpired. The work to restore New York City pressed on, and the trauma of the invasion had slowly faded from the faces of the citizens. Barton talked about actually working, of the hopes New Yorkers had of making certain everyone knew that New York was not afraid. Steve had also worked alongside the archer, and he often gave Natasha a smile as he talked. Stark simply rolled his eyes at every smile, causing Thor to wonder if more had happened in his absence than he realized. But Steve and Natasha showed nothing more than genuine friendship for one another.

After the meal, Stark wandered back to his lab, proclaiming that he needed to finish his project before Pepper arrived the next day. Thor assumed that Pepper was Stark's lover or wife, though no one confirmed it. Natasha showed him to guest quarters almost as lavish as his personal rooms in Asgard, though they were much smaller. Thor did not complain, thanking her gratefully and closing the door to settle for the night. He walked over to the massive windows, looking out at New York's skyline and marveling at the sight. While this world did not have the technology and vistas of Asgard, it still amazed Thor.

A knock drew him from his thoughts, and he quickly opened the door to find Barton outside. The archer stood with his eye on the hallway, obviously on guard in spite of being surrounded by friends. "Sorry to interrupt."

"You are not," Thor assured him as he silently invited the other man inside. Then, he walked across the massive suite to the bar that Stark had built into the room. The thick carpet hushed their footsteps as Barton followed him.

The archer sighed. "Listen, I need to know. Loki. . . ."

Thor looked up from his search of the small refrigerator. "He is in Asgard, under constant guard."

Barton nodded, his brow furrowed as he struggled with his emotions.

Thor straightened, closing the refrigerator. He stared at the other man. "He remains gagged and bound, unable to do any magic, in garments not his own. He is watched by the most trusted members of Odin's personal guard and will not escape."

"What's being done to him?"

Thor sighed. "His punishment has not yet been decided." He shook his head, coming around the bar and walking to the windows again. "Our father deliberates, caught between the need for justice and his desire to restore his son."

"I thought you and Loki. . . ."

"He is still my brother," Thor interrupted. "And always will be." Slowly, he turned to face Barton. "I know what he did to you and Eric Selvig, not to mention many others. And I do not condone it nor believe it was the right course of action. However, he is still. . . ."

"I get it." This time, Barton interrupted. "My brother and I. . . ." He shook his head. "We're not on speaking terms right now, but he's still my brother."

Thor narrowed his eyes, hearing the unspoken message. The Barton brothers had obviously gone their separate ways some time back, and it built a bridge of understanding between him and the archer. "Then you understand why I must remain loyal to Loki."

"Unfortunately."

Thor shook his head. "For so many years, Loki and I competed against one another. I never understood that he longed for what I had, that he felt cheated for being the younger of us. I never truly grasped just how far his mind would travel in his quest for vengeance."

Barton snorted, a look of true understanding on his face. He swallowed convulsively a moment later, and his scowl deepened. "Then Loki's truly gone? From this world, I mean?"

"Yes." Thor turned his back to the view out his window and pinned Barton in place. "Just as he has truly been driven from your mind."

Barton nodded again and turned to the door. "That's what I needed. Thanks."

Thor realized the man planned to leave him in peace for the night. "Agent Barton?" He waited while the smaller human paused. "I have much to say to you, to Eric, to everyone controlled by Loki. It is not an easy thing to excuse yourself even though you had no control."

Barton's head swiveled, and he narrowed his eyes. "How would you know?"

"I do not know," Thor said honestly. "But I know what it is like to be unable to do _anything_ to help your friends." He sighed. "You fought a battle in your mind, Agent Barton. A battle unlike anything even the Chitauri could bring upon your world. _And you won_."

Barton put his back to the door, folding his arms across his chest. "Doesn't feel like it."

"It never does," Thor mused. He stepped closer to the archer, careful to remain nonthreatening in case the other man took offense to his nearness. "The battlefield of the mind is a dangerous place. It is one that can break a man if he allows it. But you. . . ." Thor shook his head, a smile coming to his face. "You are not broken. You may not feel victorious, but you still stand. And your enemy is vanquished. _That_ is what matters, Agent Barton. _That_ is what makes you victorious over Loki's influence."

Barton stared at him for a long moment, seemingly absorbing is words while trying to push them away. Finally, he nodded. "Okay."

Thor blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

Barton laughed humorlessly. "You're right." He shook his head. "I have a lot of issues to work out, Thor. But I can't argue with you."

"I was not seeking an argument."

"I know." Barton smirked at him. Just as quickly as the playful expression appeared, it faded. He met Thor's eyes. "People still stare at me now, like I'm to blame. But I don't have any reasons to give them for _why_ I did what I did. I was just. . . ." He shrugged. "You said it best. No one can even begin to understand what I'm going through unless they've been through it."

Thor nodded in agreement. "Just as you cannot know all that I feel knowing my own brother perpetrated these crimes against you and those I care about."

"I know a thing or two about that, Thor. Like I don't have any reasons, neither do you. What _Loki_ did was his choice. You can't control that any more than I could control what he did to me." Barton held his gaze, the familiar weight of guilt giving way to understanding. In that moment, the Asgardian prince and human archer connected in a way few others could understand. Due to Loki's actions, they were brothers of a sort. Neither one needed to justify himself to the other.

Thor dipped his head respectfully. "Thank you."

"Yeah. You're welcome." With that, Barton left the room.

Thor stared at the closed door, uncertain his words had truly been heard. Barton seemed to let go of his objections too easily, and Thor knew men rarely allowed their "issues," as Barton called them, to settle so easily. Clint "Hawkeye" Barton was as much a human being as any of the other Avengers. Even Thor himself still had trouble accepting that what Loki had done was not his fault. He could not expect Barton to release his self-loathing so easily when Thor could not do the same with his "guilt by association," as Jane put it. It would be a long time before he could look at New York and his friends without wondering if he could have somehow prevented this entire chaotic mess.

Turning back to the view outside his window, Thor's mind stayed on Agent Barton and Eric Selvig for a long time. They were war heroes in their own ways. Eric had helped them close the portal when it mattered most, and Clint had fought against creatures Loki summoned. Both of them, though, had won the battle for something much grander and much more important. They had won the battle of the mind.


	7. Left It All Behind

**Author's Note:** So, I was planning to wait for another couple of days before posting this chapter, but my husband asked about it this morning before work. "When are you posting the next chapter of New York State of Mind?" Since he _did_ sit and help me come up with some twists in my next story, I figured I'd indulge him.

So, here's the final chapter in my first-ever Avengers story. I never intended for it to go as deep or as long as it has, but I have enjoyed writing for all of you. This chapter doesn't end as happy as I originally thought, but you'll understand why when you reach the end. Big thanks to **theicemenace** who beta'd and listened to me brainstorm and to all of you who reviewed! Hope you enjoy this chapter, and drop a line to let me know what you think! ~lg

oOo

Nick Fury had very few friends. Over the years, most of them had died in a series of explainable—or unexplainable—incidents. Some had simply succumbed to old age while others had been targeted due to their involvement with him. Phil Coulson was just the latest in that long list.

Now, Fury sat in his office and stared at the young man before him, impressed with how Clint Barton's eyes never wavered from their direct stare. The archer had just presented Fury with a request for an indefinite leave of absence, and he would not be dissuaded from his goal. Unfortunately for him, Fury refused to sign it without having some questions answered. "How long, Agent Barton?"

"I'll be back by Christmas, sir," Barton replied succinctly.

"Back with the Avengers, or back to work with SHIELD?" There was a big difference in Fury's mind, and the request for "indefinite" leave left him feeling as if SHIELD might lose one of their best assets.

"I can't say."

Fury narrowed his eye. Coulson had trusted this man and had passed that trust along to Fury. Granted, Barton had caused more than his fair share of trouble by refusing to follow certain orders, but he had managed to get his name added to Fury's rather short list of people he would turn to in a pinch. In fact, he _had_ turned to Barton during the latest situation with the Chitauri, just not in a direct manner. Watching Barton face down the Council time after time and knowing that the man had to feel the same guilt over his actions as the Council suggested. . . .He sighed. "Four months, then? I'll expect a decision by then."

Swiftly adding his signature to Barton's request for a leave of absence, he stood and extended a hand across his desk. "I hope you find what you need."

Barton shook his hand, his grip firm and steady. "Thank you, sir."

As the archer turned and slipped out of the office, Fury dropped back into his chair. Coulson had trained Barton well, having taken a chance on a carnival-attraction-turned-criminal and succeeded in turning him into one of the sharpest men Fury knew. Barton's intelligence wasn't traditional or even eccentric. The man had come up in the almost cutthroat world of trapeze artists and swordsmen before joining a covert terrorist organization. He'd faced down his own demons long before he ever ended up on SHIELD's radar. When Coulson brought the file he'd built on The Amazing Hawkeye—a kid with more street smarts and skills than common sense and tactics—to Fury's desk, Fury had literally laughed in the other agent's face before issuing the biggest bet of his career to date. _Agent Coulson, you bring that man in and turn him into a SHIELD agent, I'll eat my eye patch._ Now, Fury gently fingered his eye patch while smiling softly at the memory and Coulson's reaction. _Wouldn't taste very good, Director. I'll settle for a bottle of Courvoisier VSOP Exlusif._

Yes, Coulson had trained Barton well, but he had _groomed_ Romanoff to become his replacement. Fury shook his head as he opened Romanoff's file. She had been Barton's choice, he realized. He and the Council had wanted the Black Widow dead, but Barton knew her and obviously saw something in her that caused him to stand down when he should have put an arrow through her heart. It had caused some chaos and left Barton still on the Council's black list, but Fury couldn't help wondering just what had allowed the archer to see what everyone else now knew. Natasha Romanoff was a valuable asset to SHIELD, and Coulson had called upon her whenever he couldn't be on location. She could handle the job Coulson had done with grace as well as fulfilling her role as the Black Widow.

Decision made, Fury stood and left his office. His assistant, Maria Hill, stood on the massive bridge of the helicarrier, overseeing operations as flawlessly as ever. The wounds she'd sustained during Loki's escape from their custody had healed, leaving only a minor scar over her eyebrow. Now, she raised that eyebrow expectantly when he stepped to her side.

Fury tucked his hands behind his back. "Call Agent Romanoff," he said softly. "I have a job for her."

Hill nodded and moved away to make contact with the Black Widow. Fury wandered over to the large window allowing sunlight to flow into the bridge, unimpeded by the clouds now below them. Life had changed since Loki made his first appearance on Earth. The Avengers Initiative, originally scrapped due to personality profiles, had proven itself to be Earth's largest asset. Fury should have felt triumph, but he instead sighed. Yes, the Avengers had succeeded, and yes, they would return when Earth needed them the most. He just hoped the Council had the good sense—and a large enough fear of Tony Stark—to stay out of things whenever that happened. And he silently prayed to whatever God really existed that Clint Barton, the Amazing Hawkeye, would find whatever he needed to find during this time and return to them whole and without a doubt of his place in this world.

oOo

Clint Barton let out a deep breath once the door to Fury's office closed behind him. He really had not known how that meeting would end, and he had made up his mind to outright disappear if Fury hadn't agreed to his terms. The last eight weeks had drained him like nothing else, and he needed to find a place where he could just _be_, as Bruce had put it.

That conversation floated through his mind as he turned to walk off the bridge of the helicarrier. The still-suspicious eyes of men and women who nearly lost their lives followed him, but he refused to care.

"_. . .we all need to get away, too,"_ Bruce had said. _"Some place where we can find who we are without all the. . .extra baggage. Where you can be you and not Agent Barton or Hawkeye."_

Clint sighed as he remembered his response. _"I don't even know who that is anymore."_

"_Maybe you should find out," _Bruce had replied, prompting him to glare at the other man. _"Look, I know you can't leave until this inquiry wraps up, but that should happen any day. You might want to think about taking some time to get to know yourself again. You wanna know what truly helped me, Agent Barton? Deep down? I know who I am, and that allows me to handle anything The Other Guy does. What he does doesn't affect what I do. I had to learn that the hard way, and I'm still learning it. It does get easier, but it takes time. And killing yourself in those streets to rebuild something beyond your control while you mentally castigate yourself isn't going to help you figure out your problems."_

Clint reached the quinjet before the memory ended. He'd felt so low that night, looking down on the work that still needed to be done to repair the city. But Bruce had been right. He didn't know himself anymore. He had, in the past, known exactly who he was and what his purpose had been. But those days had faded along with Loki's influence on his mind. Learning of Coulson's death had shattered what little hope he had that things would go back to normal, and a deep longing to know who _Clint Barton_ was had started burning in the depths of his heart. Even before the Council cleared his name, he had considered slipping away under the cover of night just to find answers to his questions. But then he remembered his old way of coping: he ran away. When he couldn't handle what he experienced in the orphanage, he ran away and found another thing to occupy his mind. When he needed to find time for himself over the years, he simply disappeared. That changed with this inquiry, and Clint felt a small shiver of victory for breaking his old habit.

Back at Stark Tower, he stood in his luxurious room and looked around. He liked it here, and he trusted the men and women who lived in the tower. Thor had helped him tremendously with his words the previous evening, and Clint had thought on them as he filled out the leave-of-absence form. _"You are not broken. You may not feel victorious, but you still stand. And your enemy is vanquished. _That_ is what matters, Agent Barton. _That_ is what makes you victorious over Loki's influence."_ Thor's assertion that, no matter what he _felt_, the fight had ended in his favor had shored up Clint's shaken will. Next time he faced down someone like Loki, he'd be better prepared to defend himself physically and mentally.

A knock on the door paused his preparations. He stared down at the simple black duffel bag on his bed, uncertain if he wanted to answer the knock or ignore it. Natasha's voice came from the other side. "I know you're in there, Clint. Answer the door, or I'll pick the lock."

Clint smirked at that. He crossed the room in long strides and allowed Natasha to saunter past him. Her eyes swept over the area, taking in the untouched living space and the bag on the bed. "Were you planning to leave without saying goodbye?"

Clint met her eyes. "No."

She lifted her chin and accepted his answer. It had always been that way between them. Once trust had been established, neither one questioned the other's judgment. Which made what Loki had done even more devastating. "Where are you headed?"

"I don't know." Clint returned to packing the few belongings he'd brought to Stark Tower into the duffel bag, as well as some electronic gadgets he took everywhere with him. Frequency detectors, frequency jammers, and devices to keep him from being compromised by someone out for revenge. "I thought I'd start in Waverly."

Natasha, who had moved to the window, froze. "You certain?"

Clint straightened and joined her at the window, crossing his arms over his chest and planting his feet shoulder-width apart. "What would you do if you had the chance to go back? To learn who you were before the Red Room and the Black Widow Program?"

His words hit home, as he knew they would. Natasha remembered nothing of her days before the Red Room. She had one memory that might have been of that time, but it had been so lost in the haze of her training and subsequent career as the Black Widow that she could never fully trust it. She often said her life began the day Clint refused to kill her, and he had not understood the depth of that statement until after one particularly difficult mission. She had finally come to trust him and had shared everything about her life. Now, she looked at him with sympathy. "You flying?"

Clint shook his head. "Takin' a Greyhound," he said, deliberately adding a touch of blues to his voice.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "On the Hudson River line?" she asked sarcastically. Without giving him the chance to respond, she jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "Fury called. He wants to talk with me, and I think he's going to offer me Coulson's job."

Clint nodded without answering, letting the silence stretch for a moment. Phil Coulson had been a friend to both of them, one of the first men they both completely trusted. Finally, he spoke. "You'll do a great job."

Natasha accepted his assurance with a hand on his arm. "Just don't leave without saying goodbye to the others. They won't understand like I do."

She started to leave, but Clint caught her arm. A moment later, he surprised her by pulling her into a hug. "Thanks, Tasha. I know it was you who sent Rogers my way."

She returned the hug. "Just don't be gone too long."

"I'll be home for Christmas," he promised.

"You'd better." She stepped away and nodded. "Be safe."

Clint watched her slip out of his room with a smile. He didn't know what she'd said to Rogers to get their team leader to speak to Clint, but it must have been quite a request. Either that, or she'd turned on those Black Widow charms to get her way. It didn't matter to Clint. What mattered is that Rogers's words had impacted his life. _"It's not about the one mistake, Barton. It's about living day by day, doing what you know to do. Eventually, it does get better. It gets easier. And it starts by trusting yourself and trusting those closest to you." _Those words, so true and so needed, had brought him to Stark Tower and stopped the downward spiral he'd started when he figured out the Council blamed him for the entire invasion.

After he finished packing, Clint threw his duffel over his shoulder and picked up the case that held his bow and quiver. One of his reasons for traveling by Greyhound was that he could take his weapon on board the bus. He double-checked that he carried his certification with him, knowing he simply needed to flash his official SHIELD badge to be permitted. It kept the beloved weapon close and available should anyone come gunning for him.

Walking into the Commons, he blinked when he saw the group gathered. Rogers and Bruce sat quietly on a couch while Stark paced in front of the window. Thor stood next to the elevator, his arms crossed.

Stark spoke first. "So, you were gonna slip out when we didn't notice?"

"No." Clint dropped his duffel bag. "I was planning to track down each of you."

Stark nodded once. "So, you're leaving. Does that mean you're out, completely?"

Clint smirked. "Have you ever known me to quit, Stark?"

"Based on your file, no."

"I find it a little scary that knowing you've seen my file doesn't worry me."

"And I find it a little scary that over half your file has been redacted," Stark rejoined.

"Around seventy-five percent, actually." Clint stuck out his hand. "Thanks for the place to stay."

"It's yours when you get back." Stark shook his hand. "When _will_ you get back?"

"Christmas." Clint turned to Rogers. "Cap."

"Agent Barton."

The two men shook hands, not needing words to say goodbye. Clint followed that with a handshake for Bruce and then picked up his bags to face Thor. The Asgardian nodded slowly. "May you find what you seek," he said softly.

"Thanks." Clint offered to shake Thor's hand, not surprised when the big man clasped his forearm. "And I hope you get everything worked out, too."

With his goodbyes said, Clint slipped past Thor and stood impassively as the elevator doors closed on the first place to truly feel like home in a long time. He almost laughed at the hangdog look on Stark's face or the thoughtful expression Thor had, but he instead settled for a final nod. As he rode the elevator to ground level and then walked out of Stark Tower, he sighed.

He really was leaving. For so long, he'd only known New York City, SHIELD, and covert ops. Before that, all he could remember was training, the circus and abuse. But Loki's arrival changed all of that. Clint needed to learn who he was so he could heal from Loki's actions. He wouldn't do that here, with the battle scar to remind him of what had happened. Instead, he needed to be out there, revisiting his past and putting his nightmares to rest. Only then would he be able to return home.

_I don't have any reasons, I've left them all behind.  
__I'm in a New York State of Mind_

oOo

_~The End~_

oOo

_**Coming Soon!**_

_Long Time Comin'_

Clint Barton left New York to figure out his life and who he really is. Now, he retraces his steps as a child, facing those old nightmares and hoping to heal from Loki's attack. He is being followed, however, and the reason might hit a little closer to home than he would like.

Sequel to _New York State of Mind_.


End file.
